Heartless Few Box Set
Page 53
“No doubt you’re right, but I’m just not sure—”
“Why I want to do this?”
“Well yeah. I mean, like you say, the heat on you and therefore the rest of the band too is pretty intense at the moment. My thought would be that it’s a good time to lie low, not draw attention to yourself.”
“Yeah, well when have you known me to run in the opposite direction to controversy? I guess that’s why I’m the front man and you’re the suit, right?”
“I guess so.” His tone is clipped, and I can tell I’ve offended him. It’s not the first time and probably won’t be the last, but he’s a big boy and he can take it. Plus when we do well, he does well, so even if he doesn’t like it, I know he’ll shut up and deal if the price is right.
“I guess so too. Let’s just say that I have my reasons, but that’s not important. What’s important is that we make this happen.”
“So when do we need to get this show on the road, so to speak?”
“In two weeks.”
“What? No. I mean, the album isn’t even finished. There’s no way—”
“I don’t pay you to tell me no. The music is my concern. I’ll take care of that side of things. I haven’t discussed it with the guys yet, but I know we can make it happen. Do what you need to do, but know that no isn’t an option.”
“But—”
I hang up. I briefly wonder which part of “no isn’t an option” he didn’t understand. Patience is in short supply for me at the best of times, even more so now. I’m not about to waste time listening to his feeble excuses.
-FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE-
Global superstars the Heartless Few have announced their first ever “secret” live show to promote the launch of their forthcoming studio album, Fight[or]Flight. The gig will be held at a secret location in New York, only to be revealed a short time before it takes place on Friday of this week. Tickets to this intimate and exclusive event will be available to a select handful of dedicated fans, and those lucky enough to win tickets through promotions. An even smaller number will be available for sale, with all proceeds being multiplied by the band and donated to charities supporting families battling cancer.
The album comes hot on the heels of the band’s recent Cold, Hard, & Heartless tour, and the accompanying coffee-table book and photographic exhibition, Arlo Jones//Cold, Hard, & Heartless. The tour sold out globally, seeing the band smash presales records in many territories. Fight[or]Flight follows the band’s smash-hit album Relentless, which according to independent data was the biggest-selling album of last year, with sales exceeding three million units. It also earned Grammys for Best Alternative Album and Best Alternative Song (“Can’t Make Me”), while dominating the global charts for more than sixteen weeks.
In a yet-to-be-aired interview with Ellen DeGeneres, lead vocalist and lead guitarist Arlo Jones expresses his pride in the new album and gives a sneak peek of what to expect.
“We’re so !@$#ing proud of this album. We came off the tour pumped and with our creative juices flowing. Although we were physically and mentally exhausted from all those weeks on the road, instead of taking a break we decided to harness that creative inspiration and go straight into the studio to work on it. Call us gluttons for punishment, but we don’t regret it for a minute. You can sleep when you’re dead, right? The result is some of our best work to date, and we’re pumped to be sharing it with the world.”
When asked about the meaning behind the album, Jones said the following:
“It’s about love and loss. It’s about struggle and hope. It’s about bleeding and healing. It’s about moving forward and slipping backward. It’s about people, and how we deal when the sh#t hits the fan. Some of us choose flight, others choose to stay and fight. Which one am I? Listen to the album and find out.”
Presale registration for the limited release tickets opens at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow, and the tickets are expected to sell out in moments. Further gig details will be released to ticket holders via text message and email on the day of the event.
Fight[or]Flight goes on sale August 1.
-ENDS-
Focusing on the imminent gig is the perfect distraction. The fact that it doesn’t involve pickling my internal organs in vodka is an added bonus. I have to channel so much of my energy into making sure this gig goes off without a hitch—which is easier said than done—that there’s no time for anything else.
The paparazzi have been camping outside the studio for days, waiting for any glimpse of the guys and me. Likewise outside my house. And it’s not just the press that has been going into overdrive. The fans are losing their shit too. Big-time. Crowds have been gathering since the announcement of the gig was made, and social media commentary has blown up. In fact, we’ve pretty much melted the internet with all the speculation about how and where to obtain tickets, and who will be lucky enough to snag one. There are tags, tweets, and tantrums, but most of all, there is a great sense of anticipation.
Perfect.
Eighteen
Dear Squirt, I missed you a lot today. I wrote you a song, and that made me feel better. I can’t wait to sing it for you one day. I’ve written one for Mommy too, and I’m hoping she’ll get to hear it very soon. Love you, Daddy.
The night of the gig rolls around, and after two weeks of frantic all-nighters, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. I’m also more on edge than I can ever remember being for any gig. Ever. Even our very first. More than for major events performing for presidents and some of the biggest stars in the world before we were major stars ourselves. Collecting our first Grammy was less of a big deal. Nothing beats this.
I’ve smoked so many cigarettes, I’m about 90 percent tobacco at this point. So much for my recent commitment to healthy living, but it was either smoking or something stronger. Nicotine coupled with copious amounts of caffeine is the lesser of the available evils, and doesn’t come with the ‘morning after’ feeling, so it won the stimulant roulette.
I feel like I’m about to play for my life—figuratively and literally. Getting the album finished and in a performance-ready state in such a short time was a big ask, and definitely took its toll physically and mentally on all of us. I’m not sure the boys will thank me for it when it’s all over, but as far as I’m concerned, it had to be done, and once again, thankful or not, it shows their commitment to me, and to the band. We do whatever we need to do.
My chops—both hands and voice—are shot to pieces from overuse. Add excess smoking into the mix, and my voice is almost fried. Coming off the world tour and straight into the studio meant that both were a little shaky to start with, and going from that to cramming rehearsals for an album was asking a lot. My throat and fingers are in screaming agony now; I only hope that I have enough juice in the tank to carry off this show tonight. I have to, if it’s the last performance I ever give.
On a normal gig day, the guys know to give me a wide berth backstage; today they’re avoiding me like the plague, and with good reason. I can’t trust myself around anyone, the way I’m worked up right now. Especially not Luke, who has the good sense to stay well away until a few moments before we go on stage. We’ve been avoiding each other as much as possible when you’re in a band with someone and are working almost around the clock to get a show together. Still, outside of rehearsals, I’ve scarcely seen him. It’s for the best for both of us.
Preshow, my nerves are raw, and none of the usual cures are even slightly taking the edge off. After downing enough black Sambuca shots—my usual preshow loosener—to fell a horse, I’m still totally on edge. My entire body is a ball of nervous energy—even my cock is rock-hard and ready for action. I try jerking off several times in my office, but that provides no relief either. If anything, I’m harder afterward, if that’s even possible. I know a long, slow screw is the only thing that will take the edge off, but the only person I want to do that with may as well be a million miles away. Even if she were here, I doubt she’d be interested in fucking me right
now, anyway.
Moments before we go on stage, I check myself out in the green room mirror. I’ve shaved off the beard I’ve been sporting since Marniegate, so I look and feel more like my old self. My hair is the usual mass of artfully arranged waves. I’m head-to-toe in all black everything, as ever, but today I’ve upped the ante with a fitted shirt open to the waist and moleskin pants so tight, they look sprayed on. I guess the world is about to know about the adrenaline boner I can’t shake—there’s no hiding anything in these pants. It really will be the world too, as the gig will be live-streamed globally online, just like I wanted.
As I strut on stage to give the performance of a lifetime, I pull on my trademark shades—the perfect defense against the bright studio lights and the emotion in my eyes. Exactly as I had planned when the idea struck me, the room is full to the brim with anticipation-crazed fans, and only select few industry suits and hacks. From the moment the crowd sees me, I have them right where I want them. I’m holding them firmly by the heartstrings, and I have no intention of letting them go until I’ve sung my final note. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, and if I play it right, there won’t be a dry eye in the place when I’m done.
Tonight they’re treated to Alpha Arlo. The Arlo who is primed, physically and mentally, and taking no prisoners. The Arlo who is determined to tear six shades of shit out of their emotions, and those of one particular person who is hopefully viewing from ten thousand miles away. I want to sucker-punch them in the heart and take them on a journey of blood-pumpingly high highs and soul-destroyingly low lows. I want them to be where I’ve been for the past few months: torn, twisted, and left for dead.
Sometimes when I perform, I feel like I’m romancing the crowd, as though each and every woman in the room is my lover, and in giving myself through our music and my performance, I’m bringing her to delicious climax. This is not one of those times. Tonight is the musical equivalent of a mercy fuck. It serves a purpose, but it’s not pretty. Right now I have no love to give—not to the strangers assembled in the room anyway. Just rage, fear, desperation, and even a little contempt. I want to wrench their hearts from their chests, trample them, and leave them mangled on the floor, beating but only with the faintest pulse, an imitation of their former vitality. I want to leave them feeling deflated, defeated, and desperate. Crushed. Just like me.
As I stare out at their tearstained cheeks, observing the subdued stillness that descends as we reach the climax of the show, I know I’ve hit my mark. I didn’t choose to be here; I was compelled to be, and in doing so, I’ve stripped myself bare for the world to see. It’s real, and raw, and fucking painful as all hell, but it’s also exactly what it needs to be. It’s me in all my ugly, twisted glory, and it’s all I’ve got to give.
To the guys’ credit, they’re with me every step of the way, backing me note for note. No matter what we may feel about each other and what water may travel under the bridge of our brotherhood, I know they’ve got my back. Even Luke. Especially Luke. No matter how shitty a brother I am, I can’t deny he’s always there for me.
For a smart guy, I can be a slow fucking learner sometimes. I’ve been dark on Luke for the past few weeks since I found out about his part in Marniegate. Just as he said, all I could see was the parts of the situation I wanted to see, and how they affected me and mine. I viewed him concealing Marnie’s whereabouts as the ultimate in brotherly sabotage, him going out of his way to hurt me.
Now it occurs to me that he was doing what he thought was right in keeping Marnie and me apart so I could cool off, and therefore saving me from myself. Who knows what I would have said or done in the heat of the moment had I gotten to her when shit first went down. I was so full of rage and grief over London, I can’t be sure I wouldn’t have done something that we’d all live to regret.
More than that, in not mentioning his feelings for Marnie to either of us, he put my feelings ahead of his own every day for fifteen years. Even though he knew I wasn’t serious about her, and even though he implored me to end it with her time and time again, he never once actively did anything to end it himself. If that’s not loyalty, I don’t know what the fuck is. Could I honestly say that I would have done the same? No.
I address the crowd for the encore, removing my sunglasses for the first time throughout the entire gig. A collective gasp ripples through the space when the crowd takes in my appearance. I guess the dark circles and red-rimmed eyes aren’t my usual style or my finest hour. Heartache isn’t kind on the features, evidently. My appearance is forgotten momentarily as I throw my glasses into the audience and watch impassively as bodies heave toward them like birds flocking for scattered bread crumbs. When the tussle settles down and I have their undivided attention again, I address the room directly for the first time.
“You would need to have been residing on a faraway planet not to be aware that I’ve been going through some… issues in my life recently, and that’s putting it politely. In fact, I’ve ridden to Hell and back on the Devil’s wings, and it’s not over yet. But you know, when you go through trials, you learn a whole heap. About the world, about the people around you, and more importantly, about yourself.” I pause, looking into the crowd again, to gauge their reaction. They’re still with me. Good.
“What you learn when shit gets real is what determines whether you’ll sink or swim and the person you’ll be when you come out the other side. ’Cause that’s what we’re all here for, right? To learn. If you’re not learning, you may as well be dead. Well, I’m not dead. I’m here, I’m fucking alive, and I’m learning shit the hard way.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed this exclusive showcase as much as we’ve enjoyed bringing it to you. If you like what you heard, remember that the new album featuring all these songs, Fight[or]Flight, is out on the first. Preorder your copy today.” We’re here to sell records, after all.
“Okay, that’s the sales shit over with, so let’s get back to the real talk. This is the last song from us tonight. It’s called ‘Hummingbird.’ I wrote this one back in the summer at a time when I was doing a lot of… soul searching, I guess you could call it. I got this tattoo at the same time.” I rip open my shirt and point to the hummingbird and cage situated over my heart. Another gasp from the room.
“This is here to remind me every day of what I want, what I had, and what I’ve lost. Both the tattoo and the song are dedicated to my beautiful, fragile yet powerful, unpredictable hummingbird. I love you.”
As the chords of the song soar, so do my spirits, and I’m overtaken by an optimism I haven’t felt in months. For me, for London, for Squirt, for us.
Hummingbird, your frailty isn’t meekness
Hummingbird, your strength is my weakness
Hummingbird, I never had a reason to fear
Hummingbird ’til you were no longer near
Hummingbird, if I lose you, I lose me
And if I lose that, I won’t know how to be
So fleetingly rare and fragile in your beauty
My love for you isn’t a choice, but a duty
So light in flight but so heavy in my heart
I want you to stay, but you push us apart
I need you to want it like I want you to
But taking flight is the first thing you do
The tighter I hold you to draw you near
The further you push me, I’m still here
Hummingbird, your frailty isn’t meekness
Hummingbird, your strength is my weakness
Hummingbird, I never had a reason to fear
Hummingbird, ’til you were no longer near
Hummingbird, if I lose you, I lose me
And if I lose that, I won’t know how to be
I’m like the cage, barring you from being free
All I want is for you to want us, to want me
The connection is there, you know it’s real
When your heart beats, I know what you feel
Every time we touch, your breath comes so fast
Trust in me, and I’ll show you how you slay
Do you see me? I’m here and I’m here to stay
Hummingbird, your frailty isn’t meekness
Hummingbird, your strength is my weakness
Hummingbird, I never had a reason to fear
Hummingbird, ’til you were no longer near
Hummingbird, if I lose you, I lose me
And if I lose that, I won’t know how to be
I want to hold you in my arms each and every day
You want to keep me out of reach, push me away
My hummingbird
I want to hold you in my arms each and every day
You want to keep me out of reach, push me away
My hummingbird, my hummingbird, my hummingbird…
We leave the stage and head back to the band room—we’ve taken over the club’s staff room—in subdued silence, which I’m the first to break.
“Well, that was epic.” I stare at a spot on the tiled floor, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. I need a break from hard truths for a moment.
“Ya think? They fucking loved it” is Ryan’s lighthearted input. I raise my gaze to stare at him, and he stares back unwaveringly. “We’ve got your back, you know that, yeah?” He’s suddenly serious.
“Yeah, brother. I know. Thank you. All of you.” I pull my eyes from Ryan’s and look pointedly at Luke. He stares me down, defiant and spoiling for a fight. Or at the very least anticipating one. For once, I don’t have any left in me.
“I owe you an apology.” It’s an understatement, but it’s a start, and right now it’s all I’ve got.
He nods, saying nothing but maintaining eye contact. Clearly he’s not going to make this easy for me. Not that I thought he would or should. I deserve to squirm over this, and more besides.